


Lions and the Color Thereof

by twitchtipthegnawer



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Pathfinder (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Child Abuse, Dirty Jokes, Fantastic Racism, Gen, Ghosts, Political Alliances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-01-31 18:40:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18597160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twitchtipthegnawer/pseuds/twitchtipthegnawer
Summary: Even before he had cause to, Tamrin dreamed of drowning.The way the sun looked from the underside of the water, diffuse golden light forming a halo around a spot so blinding he couldn't look directly at it. The slow build of desperation and fear turning something so normal, so mundane, into something terrifying. He didn't call them nightmares, because he wasn't sure theywere,but they certainly weren't pleasant either.(Since this is an as-yet unrevealed/undiscussed backstory for the campaign I'm currently playing with my friends, they're all banned from reading it. I don't trust them not to metagame. If you're reading this and you shouldn't be, you know who you are, and I'm very disappointed in you.)





	1. Shanty

“I named you Tamrin, after the monkey,” he remembered his mother telling him. Her brown hair was long enough to pool around them both, his tiny hands playing with the ends where he sat nearly a foot from her folded legs. “Because when you were born, your little face was so wrinkled, you looked just like one.”

The gentle teasing made him giggle, and she punctuated it with a single finger tapping the tip of his nose. He sneezed, and Arielle Chrysanthemum Brobdingnag laughed like a breeze through windchimes. Her laughter was one of the most beautiful sounds of his childhood.

He did not hear it often.

“Tamrin, are you done yet?” The Mistress of house Orlaith shouted through the door to the washroom. Tamrin nearly flinched at the sound.

“C-c-c-coming, Ma’am!” He hurriedly pulled himself from the tub and dried off, patting himself down as quickly as he could manage. The Mistress didn’t like to be kept waiting.

“You should consider yourself lucky I allow you this leisure time,” she said through the solid, thick wood. Tamrin shot a nervous glance at the deadlock on the door. “Were it not for your usefulness, I wouldn’t stand for it.” As he pulled the deadlock off and looked up at her, he found her smiling face staring down at him. “And your loveliness. Come here, darling, we’ve a gala tonight and you shall be resplendent.”

She was beautiful. Tamrin had thought his mother was beautiful, nothing like him at all, just brown and brown and brown like good garden earth. Like the silt he carried on his hands up from the nearby lake. His mother hadn’t shared any of his garish coloring.

Mistress Aurelia Orlaith looked nothing at all like his mother, and yet reminded him of her constantly. Blonde hair and blue eyes like chips of broken ice. Scattered behind a travelling merchant to appease the poorer village children, except that he didn’t think she’d given anything away in her entire life.

Her skintone was nearly the same as his, he noted as her hand landed on his bared shoulder. It made him shiver; the shirt was too wide-necked, leaving him feeling uncomfortably exposed. She sat him down in a chair, staring directly into the mirror of a vanity, and he was left watching his (only slightly distorted) face.

Pink skin. Purple eyes. Sea-green hair, the precise shade of a spring morning dawning cloudless and glinting blinding off the crests of waves. Gills frilled along his neck.

His mother used to say that he looked just like his father.

Often, she did not mean it kindly.

Master Orlaith was not as fair as his wife. His hair was black, his eyes a brown Tamrin found difficult to look directly into. His skin was near pale enough to glow in the dark, but he habitually carried a candle in one hand and a book in the other, so Tamrin never knew for certain. Now, he barely glanced up from his tome as his wife presented Tamrin to him. “What do you think, dear?”

“Lovely,” he said, transparently disinterested.

Tamrin loved the jewellery she’d adorned him with, a series of delicate bracelets and three earrings in each ear, the largest dangling almost low enough to tickle his gills. Only clear quartz, of course, no precious gems wasted on him, but pretty enough anyway. It made up for letting her fuss with his appearance. To see someone other than some murky deadbeat, a man of no integrity at all,  _ abandoner,  _ and instead…

Well, Tamrin would never be as pretty as his mother. But he remembered younger days, a beautiful smile as his cheeks were indelicately squished.

Lavi always smiled with all his teeth showing. They were sharp-edged, the only thing that made a throwback like him look inhuman. Well, and his violet eyes, a shade deeper than Tamrin’s. They looked like amethysts.

“Don’t let her get you down!” He’d say - or demand, Tamrin wasn’t sure. And then, “Race you to the lake!”

“W-w-wait f-for me,” Tamrin would shout after him, running over the mulchy forest floor.

Their town was a small one, but it was only a bare day’s ride from the city of Oppara. This afforded them a well patronized tavern, and part of that success was that Tamrin grew up acutely aware of the nobility in the area. He recognized their faces, sometimes, when their carriages would pass him in the road. Lavi usually pulled him out of the way of the wheels, when he was distracted by the glittering gilding on the wood and curlicues of carvings.

On the edges there were plenty of well-traveled dirt trails, an open secret locals kept from the tourists for the sake of having a place kept safe from the bustle. One of these was what Lavi led Tamrin down, that day. Just another day.

That close to the ocean, the lake was brackish rather than freshwater. Still, Tamrin dove into it fearlessly, his eyes kept open as he transitioned from running to swimming. Lavi was left panting on the bank, his hands on his knees. “You’re not gonna give me a chance to catch my breath?” He shouted when Tamrin briefly surfaced.

“Y-you didn’t give m-me a ch-ch-chance!” Tamrin sucked water in through his gills, squirted it out of his mouth in a long arc that splattered Lavi and had him laughing, all his teeth showing sharp and pointy. And that, for a little while, was enough.

Nowadays Tamrin didn’t swim in lakes. He didn’t stare at carriages decked out in gaudy finery, because he was surrounded by that finery every single day. The wall sconces in the room Mistress Orlaith led him to that morning were actual, real gold, and lit automatically with the use of a spell whose cost Tamrin couldn’t possibly conceive of.

Sitting him down once again, Mistress Orlaith dug her red-painted nails into his bare shoulders. “Are you ready?” She asked, as she always did. This time Tamrin was facing a painting of a man, much older than he was. The black hair so like Master Orlaith’s was streaked liberally with white, and the face was heavily lined despite the fact that the man had never used Tamrin’s face to smile. Not once.

As always, Tamrin nodded. He was ready. He began to channel Leonidas Orlaith, which always felt a bit like opening his soul up to an icy flood. The first time, Tamrin had worried that he was drowning, as little sense as that made.

“Hello, granddaughter-in-law,” he said. Gone was Tamrin’s stutter, as it always was when he channeled Leonidas. The man didn’t give Tamrin his own voice, ever. It felt much the same way Mistress’ attentions did, dressing up the ugly parts of Tamrin with crystals until he  _ wanted  _ to see his own face, hear his own voice.

“Hello, grandfather-in-law,” Mistress Orlaith said coolly. Her smile showed as many teeth as Lavi’s used to, but didn’t reach her icy eyes.

“What have you called me for, today?”

“There’s a gala tonight, and we would be honored if you attended.”

He paused, and Tamrin waited with his back ramrod straight, legs tucked together. His hands were fists on his knees. “Anything to steal, this time around?”

“Grandfather, I would never,” Mistress said, covering her mouth as a light chuckle escaped.

“Very well, then. You shall have me.”

Leonidas had once been the king’s spymaster, and his habits had never quite disappeared. Not even when poison finally took him.

_ How will I die?  _ Tamrin wondered it often. He’d heard some necromancers received visions of their own deaths, but he wasn’t quite that, was he?

At eight years old, he hadn’t wondered it ever. Had Lavi? He was four years older than Tamrin, almost impossibly mature in a child’s eyes. It was possible.

One day, when Mother hadn’t been home from the tavern for almost the whole weekend and Tamrin was beginning to worry in earnest, his friend had appeared behind him in the garden. Tamrin had jumped, then clasped a hand over his racing heart and laughed.

“W-what are y-you d-d-doing here?”

Leaning down, Lavi offered his hand to help Tamrin up from his place on the ground, near the flowers. Then he seemed to think better of it and simply grinned. “I dunno, just felt like coming here for some reason. Hey, do you want to take a walk?”

Quietly, Tamrin agreed. He stood and brushed himself off, then carefully inspected his friend as he began to lead the way through the woods. It should’ve felt familiar.

Why didn’t it?

Sometimes, Tamrin wished he didn’t get answers to so many of his questions.

_ How will I die? _

“Martella,” greeted his Mistress. “Who has paid you enough to come out of hiding and join us common folk, this evening?”

“No one but obligation,” replied Martella Lotheed. She always chose her words carefully, around Tamrin, not that he blamed her.

“You haven’t aged a day,” said Leonidas, with Tamrin’s voice.

With a polite incline to her head, just enough that her dark hair fell in a private curtain around the side of her face, Martella said, “And you seem to have lost a few.”

Leonidas threw Tamrin’s head back and laughed, a deep laugh from the belly that had Tamrin’s face blazing with embarrassment. The worst part was that it was performative on Leonidas’ part, not even a reaction that came naturally to him. Tamrin didn’t think anything besides  _ sneaking  _ was that man’s forte.

Nimble as he was, Tamrin was hardly stealthy. He crunched through the leaves and twigs, barefoot as he always was. Mother didn’t see the need to buy him shoes when he never went far beyond their safe little town. In comparison, Lavi’s feet didn’t make a single sound, which was strange to Tamrin only in hindsight. At the time, he was distracted by Lavi’s chatter.

“You know how Hopea always says I shouldn’t go swimming alone, just because I’m a throwback?” Lavi asked.

“Uh-huh,” Tamrin responded.

“Yeah, she’s been getting more adamant lately. I’m like, hey, I’m getting older and stronger? Why are you making such a big deal out of this.”

His laugh was a bit strained, but Tamrin hummed an agreement anyway. He liked that Lavi didn’t make him talk much. Sometimes, his stutter got to be too much for him, even when the person he was speaking to was patient.

“So like, I was thinking? And I decided to try to make myself some shoes that would help with my swimming. This was months ago, I uh. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to risk your mom telling Hopea.”

“It’s o-okay,” Tamrin said. “B-but you sh-should-should probably s-stop calling her Hopea. Sh-sh-sh-sh-she said she wants you to c-call her Aunty.”

Rolling his eyes, Lavi came to a stop beside a tree. “Whatever. So I was making these shoes, and uh, you know the Opparan cobbler? The one who went through town like, two weeks ago? He found them.”

On cue, Tamrin gasped. Lavi smiled. “Yeah, he said he was really impressed! He gave me a couple pointers, offered for me to apprentice at his shop, even. I think maybe he was joking? But I got the shoes done really fast, and I wanted to try them out right away, but then I thought. Hey, I know another kid who might need some shoes.”

Wide-eyed Tamrin pointed at himself. “Me?” Lavi snorted, pointed at him, and confirmed with a nod. Tamrin jumped into the air, a silent celebration, and Lavi laughed.

Head thrown back,  _ real  _ laughter. The sincere form of what the Orlaiths would teach Tamrin to fake a decade later.

“They’re right by the foot of this tree,” Lavi said. “Come on, dig ‘em up for me.”

“Like unw-w-wrapping a fancy p-present,” Tamrin breathed. Lavi shrugged.

He dug, dirty nails getting dirtier, and then came across a canvas sack he eagerly pulled from its hiding place. Yanking on the drawstring bow to untie it, Tamrin quickly revealed a pair of sandals. They looked like the perfect size, intricately braided twine straps that would reach almost to his knees all done up. Small flowers and shells were woven into them, prettier than some of the adornments Tamrin had seen on noblewomen.

“Go ahead, try them on,” Lavi urged. Tamrin did, and though he struggled with the straps some, Lavi only needed to offer a couple of tips before he managed them. Later, Tamrin would think about how Lavi would normally just put them on for him. Later, Tamrin would remember the warmth of sunlight on his skin, dappling through the leaf cover, and cry at the play of shadows and light on Lavi’s face. But that was later.

For now he posed, and giggled, and Lavi clapped with each new wiggle of his little toes. The sandals were surprisingly soft, comfortable in the  _ extreme,  _ and Tamrin was even more nervous than usual as he tried to thank Lavi.

Waving his hand, Lavi replied, “Nah, don’t thank me just yet. These were supposed to be, uh,” he hesitated. “Okay, don’t get too upset. They were supposed to be a goodbye present.”

Slowly, Tamrin’s shoulders slumped. He looked down at the ground, the set of footprints leading back to his house, then back up at Lavi’s guilty face. “S-supposed to be? Not any-anym-more?”

“Not anymore,” Lavi agreed.

“Tamrin!” Someone screamed.

In the present, the din of the gala was politely quietened to allow a string quartet’s dulcet tones to swell over the gathered nobles. Tamrin stood near a buffet of hors d'oeuvres, his hands tucked behind his back while he waited for Mistress Orlaith to return.

Instead, however, the next person to come up to him was an old woman who was squinting so hard her whole face had become a single pucker. “Kulta, is that you dear?”

“Madame, I’m sure I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

“Oh, don’t be silly Kulta.” She slung an arm over Tamrin’s shoulders, which was easy enough as they were of a height, and caused him to choke as half his gills were abruptly compressed down. She tried to pull him from the wall, and only Leonidas’ gift allowed Tamrin to duck away from her.

_ You handle this,  _ the man said, when Tamrin called upon him for help.  _ It is beneath my concerns. _

“M-m-ma’am, I d-don’t know who K-Kulta is.”

“Oh my!” She pulled back abruptly, then somehow managed to squint harder. “No, you’re not him at all, are you? What are you, the help?” She poked him with one bony finger, which Tamrin shied away from but didn’t manage to escape.

“I am T-Tamrin Bijou Brobdingnag, here b-by the g-g-g-good graces of the f-family Orlaith.”

“Good graces? Of the Orlaiths?” She snorted, then spit directly into the punch bowl. Tamrin was aghast; a man standing nearby took a not-so-subtle step sideways (away from them). “Come with me, I need you to help me find my Kulta. He’s run off again, and my eyes aren’t as good as they used to be.”

“Ma’am, I-I-I c-cannot, I’ve b-been t-t-t- ”

“That’s quite enough of that,” she said. “I can’t understand a damned thing with that stutter of yours. Now, he’s a young man, should be in his twenties nowadays. Or was it thirties? Blast it, well, at least I know he has black hair, that hasn’t changed.”

Thusly, Tamrin was pulled away from his duties holding up the wall to go search for a man who turned out to be Kulta Apollo, who was both a powerful noble and the heir to everything his aging mother was clinging to with taloned hands. Mistress Orlaith had had unkind things to say about him, the one time she’d brought him up in Tamrin’s presence, but the man was nothing but kind as Tamrin delivered his mother back to him.

“She’s not nearly so helpless as she pretends to be,” he stage-whispered to Tamrin. “You’d no need to be so kind.”

“W-well, it was n-no trouble.”

“There’s no need for such nerves, either. We’re friends now!”

Over the course of the next ten minutes, Tamrin learned that Kulta was actually in his forties, was unshaven because it was less work than keeping his face clean enough to satisfy his picky matriarch, and enjoyed betting on horse races, which was apparently the worst kept secret in the family. It was… nice.

And then his Mistress found him again.

“Tamrin!” Mother had cried, clinging to him. Her shoulders shook with the force of her terror. Confused, Tamrin had reached one small hand up to hold her tunic, looking to Lavi for an explanation. His friend had only smiled sadly.

Hopea came rushing up the path behind Mother, her hair the same dark, seaweed green as her nephew Lavi’s. It was much curlier, though, and dripped water onto the path when she stopped and stood over Tamrin and his Mother. She held a hand over her mouth, and chanted, “Thank the gods, thank the gods.”

“Aunty Hopea?” Tamrin said, using the right words even if Lavi refused. “W-what’s wrong?”

“Oh, Tamrin,” she said. Mother wailed. “It’s Lavi, he’s. We found him in the lake.”

Glancing at his friend, who was shaking his head and mouthing the word  _ no,  _ Tamrin said, “But he’s right here?”

Confusion clouded Hopea’s dark purple eyes, but Mother pulled away as abruptly as if Tamrin had struck her. “Why are you  _ lying,  _ now of all times?”

“M-m-mother, I’m not, h-he’s - ”

“Don’t tell lies!”

She drew her hand backwards, and it was as though she was moving in slow motion. Tamrin saw Lavi dive towards him, he saw her palm dark like well-treated wood, but still lighter than Lavi’s skin as it got between them, and then - he felt. He felt.

Sun-drenched lakewater. The slight hints of salt in the chlorophyll fresh taste, filling his lungs. Algae and warmth and long summer days, from the top of his head down to his toes, filling him upside-down until. “Arielle, don’t!”

Though the words vibrated in his throat and curled his tongue, they weren’t  _ his,  _ and they made Mother hesitate just long enough for Hopea to grab her wrist and prevent the follow through of the threat. “Tamrin,” Mother breathed. “What have you  _ done?” _

To some, perhaps it was a blessing that Mother stopped touching him after that. No more cuddles, of course, but no more blows either. Tamrin didn’t think so, though. Mother’s hands used to braid his hair with some regularity. Mother’s hands never hit him hard enough to bruise, and Tamrin appreciated it, because he knew how badly his unblemished skin tormented her. Mother’s hands were beautiful and skilled as the rest of her.

Mistress Orlaith had his hair knotted in her fist, and he was reminded of Mother again. It was almost a relief to be out of the gala, in the privacy of a carriage with curtains drawn and a discrete driver.

“What did you  _ do,”  _ she hissed into his ear. “Did you tell that ancient fox  _ anything?” _

“She’s defanged,” said Leonidas, venomous as a snake. “Do you think I would allow the young fool to open his mouth if he was about to say something harmful?”

Mistress shook him, until Tamrin’s neck ached from the strain of trying to keep still against the force of her fist. “That isn’t how it works. Unless he’s using you for something you haven’t told me about, you  _ can’t  _ stop him. Not unless he lets you.”

“He won’t disobey my requests,” Leonidas damn near purred.

Ice water in Tamrin’s veins. Leonidas possessing him felt like one of two things, and he could never determine which. The harbinger of winter, a hard and long one where food became scarce? Or iced drinks in summer, a luxury few could afford and none needed, money squandered for the sake of something which would be gone in an hour.

Possession by Lavi was, in comparison, much better. Even if it kickstarted long conversations between Hopea and Mother. In the night, when they thought he was asleep, he overheard Hopea’s caution and Mother’s strange, steely hope.

In those days Lavi was a near constant companion. The first time Mother took Tamrin with her to the tavern, Lavi was with him, a whispered conversation in Tamrin’s head keeping his mind off the fact that she refused to hold his hand, even when a carriage too close to the side of the road nearly clipped him.

Whispers in his mind,  _ did you see how big that horse is? It should be pulling plows, not people! _

A small smile was all Tamrin could muster.

Tavern air was muggy and humid, Tamrin discovered, even more than the late evening summer air outside. Mother pulled him to the bar, had a quick conversation with the woman already working there, then slipped into the back room. She was going to change into her work clothes, Tamrin knew. He pulled himself onto a high stool to wait for her.

“Aren’t you a cute little thing,” said the barmaid. “Your mother says you can do quite the party trick. Are you going to entertain us tonight?”

“I d-d-dunno,” Tamrin stuttered out. He studied his hands rather than meet her brown, human eyes. Still, he caught her kind smile right on the edge of his vision.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll entertain our guests plenty. Do you want some apple juice?”

Polite, just like Hopea had taught him (just like Lavi laughed at him for), Tamrin replied, “Y-yes p-please ma’am.”

The first time he channeled in public was that night. A stranger’s ghost in his mouth, tasting like a thick mead Tamrin had no cause to recognize. The man had been some sort of bard, killed in the tavern a couple of years prior, and the shocked whispers when Tamrin had been able to parrot any fact the locals asked him about the man, the cheers when he sang in a voice much older than his own, made him feel…

“You’ve received an invitation, darling,” Mistress Orlaith held the letter up, with a broken wax seal depicting a domestic cat, all long hair and smug face. “From the Apollo family.”

“Excellent,” said Leonidas. “I can prove to you once and for all that they pose no threat.”

“And I can benefit from any information you overhear which proves otherwise.” The two shared smiles, too shark-like for Tamrin’s meek face, but he wore it because it was better than his own. Because, despite the implications and politics the two were slinging between them, he was going to see Lady Apollo again. He’d liked Lady Apollo.

Next week dawned bright and early, Tamrin hustled from bed to bath by a haggard maid who’d been banned from speaking to him. She tried to hurry him along, but the sight of his gills had her averting her eyes until his hour long soak had passed. And then she was putting him in front of the vanity, where usually Mistress Orlaith would dress him up.

Now, she was nowhere to be seen. “W-where is the M-mistress?” Tamrin asked, risking the maid simply ignoring him. He couldn’t touch the jewelry, glittering and pretty as it was, without her permission.

“Madame Orlaith is indisposed, and said that while your visit warrants a display of wealth, it need not be done subtly or in the latest fashions. She leaves it up to your discretion.”

To be allowed to pick anything from the rich display in front of him? Anything at all? Tamrin sucked in a breath, hovered his hands over the items nervously.

Nerves won out and he only picked two, in the end. A hair fork set with a single emerald in the center of a curl of warved, ebony vines, which held his hair in a neat bun. And a soft, woven necklace, one of the few leather items on offer. It was dyed nearly the same color as his eyes, though, and didn’t hurt his gills when it brushed them.

That done, he sat in a carriage he had never ridden alone before, tucked his hands (palms together) between his knees, and waited.

Only a few minutes later the coachman pulled the horses to a stop, and Tamrin took a shaky step out as the door was opened for him. And then, when he was barely far enough away not to have his toes run over, the carriage pulled away again.

The house he was left staring up at was remarkably thin, squeezed between two mansions that had sprawling wings nearly touching the stonework at the edges. It towered what Tamrin would guess to be six stories tall, and the granite pillars in the front were a strange shade of pink.

Swallowing, he stepped up to the door, and knocked twice.

Instantly the door was slammed open by none other than Lady Apollo herself. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but it wasn’t for her to swing her purse at him without warning.

He managed to dodge her deftly, but was left open mouthed in the wake of her sudden attack. “You’re late! You’re late!” She stepped aside and gestured emphatically. “Come in now, there’s no time to waste!”

Surprisingly enough, the entranceway was a fairly normal affair. Polished stone floors, a grand staircase spiraling upwards in front of him. But then Lady Apollo waved him to the left.

Into a parlor which was positively  _ wallpapered  _ in portraits of cats.

Everything about the parlor was weird, to be quite honest. It contained a chair upholstered in many small furs which Tamrin despairingly realized had once belonged to calico cats. An urn stood waist-high in one corner, beside a fireplace which had taxidermied cats on the mantle. No matter where Tamrin looked, there were cats or their  _ remains. _

“You can channel the dead, yes? I would like to hear from my son again!”

“Kulta? Did s-something h-happen t-to-to h-him?” Leonidas perked up, a wash of cold joy at the thought of house Apollo being left without an heir.

“No, no, foolish boy! I meant my  _ other  _ son.”

_ A bastard?  _ Leonidas’ attention sharpened further.

“He lived to be  _ twenty,  _ you know, quite old for a cat, but it’s never enough when you raise them from just their kitten days!”

_ A cat? _

_ A cat. _

_ A cat? _

Speaking with Lady Apollo remained weird for the entire visit, and at the end of it, Tamrin felt calmer and happier than he had in a long time. Even Leonidas’ grouching couldn’t ruin his mood, with another visit on the horizon.

She’d been disappointed when he told her he couldn’t channel her cat today, of course, but she’d also managed to keep the conversation up on her own for the next three hours. At the end of it all, he had a list of every cat she’d owned since childhood in his head.

Buttercup was the first, given to her as a child. The cat was old and larger than she was, a yellow tabby who wanted nothing more than to lay in sunbeams and eat incessantly. When she died, Lady Apollo asked if she could be taxidermied. Her parents had denied the request in favor of cremating her. Now, she sat in the bottom of the urn.

“Once I was furious about this. It was an outrage, my parent’s disregarding my wishes! Now, I realize what a gift it was. When I die,” Lady Apollo had said. “I shall be cremated and added to the ashes of all the best cats I’ve owned. And we shall rise again, myself and my cat collective, and we shall overturn every ridiculous rule this childish king is sure to put in place!”

And so she’d continued. Tamrin was delighted.

Almost like he’d been back when he’d gotten into the routine of visiting the tavern. Mother still didn’t touch him, but money stopped being quite as much of a concern. Tamrin outgrew the shoes Lavi made for him, but he carefully packed them away, and was able to buy a new set of sandals with money he’d earned himself.

Guilt prickled at him, even when Lavi told him it was okay, but he did his best to set it aside. He was almost the same height as his deceased friend, these days. It felt strange.

Night fell over the tavern as per usual, and Tamrin stepped up to the cleared space in the center of the tables. He opened his mouth, held his hands out at his sides, sang a quick scale as an unneeded warm up. He wasn’t as good as the man had been in life, voice unbroken and untrained, but he could sing. For tonight, he could sing.

Like many who visited Tamrin’s town, the bard had once sailed with a merchant. That night Tamrin sang a shanty he’d heard before, and knew the audience would call and response to properly. He breathed in deep, and sang, without a stutter.

_ “There’s a ghost on my ship, and she sails the seven seas.” _

They shouted back, “There’s a ghost on my ship, and she sails the seven seas!” And Tamrin tamped down on a smile.

_“There’s a ghost on my ship, and she sails the seven seas,  
And her name is My Fair Lady!”_

Commotion near the back, but it died down soon enough. Tamrin might not have the magic of a bard, might not bring inspiration to his listeners, but he could demand their attention.

_“Oh, my lady’s mighty fine when the wind is strong and true._  
_Oh, my lady’s mighty fine when the wind is strong and true._  
_Oh my lady’s mighty fine when the wind is strong and true,_  
_But the storm brings down her fury.”_

Was someone talking to Mother? She was at the edge of his vision, and looked to have leaned down. Hopea was shooting her disapproving looks. No, it didn’t matter, focus.

_“Tie the ropes nice and tight, ‘round your waist or ‘round your neck._  
_Tie the ropes nice and tight, ‘round your waist or ‘round your neck._  
_Tie the ropes nice and tight, ‘round your waist or ‘round your neck,_  
_Lest she pulls you down below._

_“For a death in the sun is a better fate than that._  
_For a death in the sun is a better fate than that._  
_For a death in the sun is a better fate than that,_  
_The deep dark waters’ arms._

_“My fair lady knows it best, how the drowning kills you slow._  
_My fair lady knows it best, how the drowning kills you slow._  
_My fair lady knows it best, how the drowning kills you slow,_  
_And she’ll teach us all ‘fore morning._

_“There’s a ghost on my ship, and she sailed the seven seas._  
_There’s a ghost on my ship, and she sailed the seven seas._  
_There’s a ghost on my ship and she sailed the seven seas._  
_And her name was My Fair Lady.”_

Cheering, then, the room loving how Tamrin bowed and waved cheerfully. When he searched for his mother’s eyes, however, he found he had been correct. She was talking to what looked to be a gnomish merchant or nobleman, wearing finery nonetheless fit for the road. His mustache was as impressive as his ability to make Arielle smile.

Tamrin missed the pitying look Hopea gave him, but he didn’t miss the voice in his head whispering,  _ You did well, kid. Don’t let it get to you. _

“Th-thank y-y-you, Jin,” he muttered back. As bards went, Tamrin wasn’t sure if Jin was uncommonly kind or if death had simply stripped away some pretence of haughtiness.

He awoke in a room in the tavern the next morning, aching a bit from how he’d danced around near the end, when the crowd had gotten drunk and rowdy and begun sneaking the boy sips from their drinks. He rolled over, wanting very badly to sink back into sleep, but his skin was beginning to feel a bit itchy and dry.

Sighing, he began to sit up, and then froze. Voices filtered into the room from the next one over. The walls were thin in the cheaper rooms.

“We can’t afford not to take his offer,” said Mother’s voice.

“Yes, you can.” That was Hopea, for once less good humor in her tone than in Mother’s. “Tamrin’s been making plenty, and he spends hardly at all. A couple of candies won’t break you anymore, Arielle.”

“Yet there is always more money to be made,” Arielle said. “And new expenses coming.”

“...Arielle, you didn’t.”

“It is my job, Hopea. Would you like to take my place?”

“If you’d been drinking your tea - ”

“Which costs money.”

Silence, then, and the sense that Tamrin was missing something. Like he’d lost one of his teeth in his sleep, swallowed it right away and left himself prodding at the hole it left behind. No possible way to know the why or how of the thing, just knowledge of its absence and a dull, throbbing ache.

“Let me talk to him first, at least.”

“Always, Hopea. You’re better with the little monkey than I am.”

“I wish you wouldn’t call him that.”

_ Why not,  _ Tamrin wanted to ask.  _ It’s the sweetest name she has for me. _

_ Creak,  _ the door opened loudly enough to make Hopea wince. When she saw that he was already awake, she smiled apologetically. “Did I disturb you?” She sat on the edge of his bed, ran fingers through his hair that he wanted to lean in to. Didn’t want to look childish.

“No,” he said. “Is-is M-M-M-Mother okay?”

Frowning, Hopea leaned closer and whispered, “Don’t you worry about her. She’s gotten herself into a pickle again, and wants you to get her out of it.”

“I don’t m-mind.”

“None of that, now.” She pressed her forehead to his, seaweed and sea-foam greens mingling together into a canvas, like the pattern of shadow a cloud might cast over a green field. Not that Tamrin had ever seen scenery like that. “Your Mother’s a big girl, and can take care of herself. What matters is what  _ you  _ want, Tamrin.”

“Wh-what I want?” He genuinely didn’t understand, and in a moment that would’ve been amusing any other time, Hopea sighed aloud at the same time as Jin sighed in the corner of the room. Tamrin nearly jumped at his ghostly friend’s sudden appearance, but then Hopea was continuing with her little speech, and he had to focus on her.

“Say the word, Tamrin, and I’ll take care of her. You’re only a child, still, and this isn’t your responsibility. If you want to go into Oppara, see the city, I won’t stop you. But this merchant your Mother’s been dealing with, I don’t trust him. I don’t want you thrown to the wolves without knowing as much as you can about what’s happening. So.”

He didn’t respond at first, and she pulled just far enough away to make eye contact again. “They want to make you into a dinner show. Channel noble ghosts in order to impress their families, hopefully enough to garner some coin, or even a patron. But if you don’t manage ‘enough,’ by whatever standard he sets, I worry he’ll claim you owe him a debt. Men like that will so happily keep you in their servitude, if they can.”

Jin growled, “I’d like to see him try. If that man does you wrong, little man, I say drag him back here and show him why he should never underestimate a bard.”

More than anything, that firmed Tamrin’s decision in his mind. He set his chin as best he could, sat up straight, and said, “Aunty Hopea, th-th-thank y-you f-for the warning. B-b-b-but I c-can’t let this m-m-merchant t-trick Mother, s-so I’ll go and ex-expose him m-myself if I h-h-have to.”

Hopea was somewhat drawn aback by what was, by Tamrin’s standards, a veritable flood of words. But then Jin started clapping in the corner, and she smiled, and said, “Maybe I shouldn’t worry about you so much. You’re not as meek as everyone seems to think, are you Tamrin?”

In response he gave her a thumbs up, and then both people, though they couldn’t speak to one another without his help, were laughing.


	2. Lullaby

Lady Apollo’s second invitation came quickly on the heels of the first, and Tamrin couldn’t wait to write back. Things proceeded much the same as last time, and soon he found himself in her parlor, this time staring at a plate of remarkably lumpy cookies.

Also, Kulta was there. He was happily chomping away, and gave Tamrin a generous wave when he walked in. Lady Apollo didn’t seem to notice her son’s presence at first, still swatting at Tamrin’s heels with her purse. “Get in there, get!”

“H-hello, Lord Ap-p-pollo,” Tamrin said with a polite half-bow.

“None of that, call me Kulta!” The man finished his statement by patting the cushion beside him with a broad hand, and so Tamrin obediently sat, a bit dazed once more.

“You’d better eat up,” Lady Apollo said as she settled into her customary armchair. “You’re skin and bones! My cats will yowl up a storm if I put them in a body that hasn’t been freshly fed, I just know it.”

“Oh, u-um. I can’t, t-today I-I-I…”

Lord Apollo gave him a shrewd look, but inside his head, Leonidas was a curling presence, a snake ready to strike but not moving just yet. So Tamrin didn’t do what he so longed to do. He just sat, and waited.

“Fine, fine, you difficult boy!” Kulta crunched through another cookie, breaking the tension Tamrin had felt. “But you’d better eat, anyway. Put some meat on that bony body.”

Obediently, he picked up a cookie, and proceeded to hold it awkwardly. He would have to eat very slowly, if he didn’t have something to drink to accompany it.

“Let’s see, where did I leave off last time… Ah, so shortly after that young upstart over there was born, I was gifted a cat by the name of Snowball. He sure was a hissy one, that boy, but the man who gave him to me was the sweetest thing I ever did see.”

Groaning, Kulta recoiled backwards, obviously exaggerating his reaction for effect. “Mother, please, can we not talk about Paz?”

“Oh, he was a vision,” she continued, completely ignoring her son. Maybe intending to offend him  _ more,  _ though Tamrin caught himself giggling somewhat at Kulta’s ridiculous miming of gagging on his cookie. “A dwarf, you know, but a high born one. He’d been trained as a fighter and earned so much prestige in the ring, he had more gold than he knew what to do with! Apparently he took to giving out gifts to young women who caught his eye, and well, I  _ was  _ quite the catch in those days!”

“She swears she was never unfaithful to Father,” Kulta whispered to Tamrin while she rambled on. “But there were two years between her meeting him and Father’s death, and I have my suspicions. Can’t wait until the old bat dies and I can read her diaries to find out  _ exactly  _ what went down.”

“What’re you whispering about over there?”

“Nothing Mother, nothing at all. You were saying?”

“Yes, well. Red hair! And so curly too, his hair and his beard and his - you know.” Tamrin felt himself blush, and Kulta pretend-gagged again. “He was a short man, of course, but I’m hardly all that tall myself! And what he lacked in endowments, he certainly made up for in an enthusiasm for experimentation - ”

“Mother, please, Tamrin isn’t old enough to hear this.”

“I’m e-eight-eighteen,” Tamrin corrected, though he too wanted a break from the increasing embarrassment.

Even Leonidas seemed sick of it.  _ Decades old gossip that was never proven. The woman’s second husband was even less a schemer than she is. _

“There, you see? He’s plenty old, I’m sure he’s been introduced to carnal pleasures his own self.” Now it was Tamrin’s turn to gag; the cookies were  _ very  _ dry and crumbly, but even as he choked she continued. “It’s such a shame that man followed my first, dearly departed husband into the afterlife ahead of me. And on the toilet too,  _ so  _ undignified.”

“In the upstairs bathroom of the master suite, actually,” Kulta added. “Perhaps some other day you would be able to channel him, rather than listen to incessant requests for cats.”

“Humph. My furry sons were far more loyal than you, usurper.”

“Usurper? That’s a new one, very creative.”

“Now listen here - ”

So it continued. And Tamrin, even with the cold snake coiled around his mind, was happy.

“We need to dress him up nicely,” the gnome merchant, Armir said. “I’m afraid gillmen aren’t the best liked by high society, so best we cover up those gills of his too.”

Behind him, Mother loomed like a wall of solid warmth. He longed to lean into her, but after so long thought she might be like the stove was in winter. Tempting to touch, but burning if he got too close. “What about mine?”

“Oh, you’ll be watching from the back of the room, so there’s no need. He’ll be the centerpiece, but I don’t think we need to change his hair. Alchemical dyes are more popular than ever.” Armir took Tamrin’s chin in his palm, tilted his head from side to side. “There’s nothing to be done for the eyes, of course, but if we’re doing our job right no one will think too long on them.”

_ Make eye contact,  _ Tamrin told himself.  _ Don’t back down. Let this man know he won’t take advantage of you or Mother. _

But he could only manage it for a moment, before the strain became too great and he averted his gaze again. Armir clicked his tongue disapprovingly, then let go, allowing Tamrin to walk the single step backwards to sit on the carriage’s bench beside his mother once more. They were on their way to Oppara, and Tamrin was a bundle of nerves.

All of that fell away the first time he saw the city gates.

They were taller than anything he’d ever seen before, but even then the castle loomed large above them. The nightly lanterns were just being lit, turning the city into a tower of fireflies caught in the midst of their ascent. Those lantern lights illuminated a street that turned abruptly from dirt and cobblestone to a beautiful mosaic, leaping fish and soaring birds passing under their carriage’s wheels. Tamrin couldn’t look away.

When he was much, much younger, he’d felt betrayed by the thought of his best friend leaving him behind for the sake of a city they’d heard about since they were born. Now, he thought he might understand. There was water everywhere, arching high from intricate fountains, tamed into something much less deadly and still so beautiful. He longed to go and lie beneath one, a rain shower under the clear sunset sky.

Dinner awaited, however, and so Tamrin said nothing while they pulled up to the manor house hosting them that night.

After a longer time spent in a tiled bathroom than Tamrin had ever dreamed he might get to have, he was brought into the room from which the echoes of conversation had been drifting all night. Rather than the small tables in many assorted shapes he was used to seeing filled at the tavern, this contained a single, long, rectangular one, covered in a tablecloth so immense he couldn’t imagine how long it would take to clean.

Skirting the edge of the room were a variety of servants, and Tamrin was pulled by Armir to join them. Around they went, until they reached a raised dais at the end of it.

Up he was shoved, and up he went, and eyes snapped to him from a hundred kohl-lined sockets. Armir’s hand was on his shoulder, keeping him rooted in place, as though he would bolt otherwise. “Ladies and gentlemen,” the merchant said. “Tonight I have for you a brand new specimen I came across on my travels. Though he may have come from humble beginnings, I think he cleaned up quite well, don’t you?” Scattered laughter filled the room. Tamrin was struck with the uncanny feeling that he was being auctioned off. “This one here’s got more than looks on his side, don’t you little green-haired cherubim? You see, he has a unique gift.

“Would the hosts of the party come to the dais, please?”

A man and woman gracefully stood, dressed in rich blue silks that flowed like waterfalls down their bodies. They waltzed up, small smiles on their faces, which were more condescending than disinterest would’ve been. Armir’s hand tightened on Tamrin. For once, Tamrin was in agreement with him.

“Whisper in his ear, sir or madame, the name of a dearly departed family member you wish him to contact.”

“Oh, how exciting,” said the woman.

“Whoever shall we chose?” Asked the man.

Tamrin was used to performing. He squared his shoulders, and waited for their answer. And when it came, he delivered.

To his chagrin, their confidence being shaken only made his hosts glare at him. But he, and the man’s great uncle (who cursed quite a lot, even compared to sailors), proved beyond the shadow of a doubt that Tamrin’s powers were real.

After the demonstration, Tamrin was ushered away into a side room. He could still smell the food being served in the other room, and the longer he waited, the more tortuous that smell became. His mother was also in there, a clean plate in front of her on a horribly fancy glass table. They waited together for Armir to return.

When he did, he wasn’t alone. A man with black hair and moonlight-pale skin followed, and a woman with her blonde hair pulled back in a severe bun, and icy, blue eyes came with him.

“Might I introduce the two of you,” Armir said proudly. “To Master and Mistress Orlaith?”

Was it good or bad luck, that it took only the one demonstration to find them? Would Armir have swindled Tamrin and his mother, if they hadn’t come forward that first time? Tamrin didn’t know, and he tried so hard not to regret the past, but sometimes. Sometimes.

“One more try,” said Aurelia Orlaith. “Once more, and then I will concede to you.”

“We are wasting our time with this woman,” Leonidas replied, and for the first time Tamrin nearly bit his tongue on the words before they could escape. If only Leonidas would allow Tamrin to act as interpreter, instead of insisting on filling him with the cold, cold waters of his soul. Every day. Tamrin thought winter might be making a home in his bones.

At least he was getting what he wanted, though. At least he was getting one more visit with Lady Apollo. And this time, when he entered her parlor, he was greeted not with cookies, but tea.

He made his usual excuses for why he couldn’t channel a cat today, and she whacked him with a purse that actually hurt a bit where it impacted with his shoulder. But, when the tea inevitably forced Tamrin to timidly ask where the restroom was, she directed him up the stairs.

Awkwardly, he poked his head in. He didn’t immediately see any ghosts in the room, and so began to divest himself of his pants. Of course, Paz chose that moment to leap up from the clawfoot tub and shout, “‘Ello there, young man!”

Tamrin yelped and hurried to refasten his pants. Still, he managed a polite, “H-h-hello, Sir Paz.”

“Quit it wit’ that stutter!” Demanded the ghost. He was dressed in a cotton sleeping tunic which was too short for Tamrin’s comfort. “Speak your mind proudly! I’ve ‘eard you downstairs talkin’ to me illustrious wife, and it’s always stutter, stutter, stutter wit’ you!”

“I c-can’t,” Tamrin said. “I’m sorry s-s-sir, it’s j-just how m-my mouth works - ”

Paz interrupted, “Well, we’ll ‘ave to work on that, won’ we?” He zipped out of the bathtub and right up in Tamrin’s face with the practice of someone long dead and comfortable with the fact. “For now, kick that old bastard Leonidas out. I know ‘e’s in there, and I wanna talk to me wife wit’out ‘im listenin’ in.”

“I - I’m not allowed, s-sir, I c-can’t - ”

Snakes coiling around his brain. Lions lying in wait in the brush. Tamrin couldn’t, he couldn’t.

“What’s the ‘arm in pissin’ off them Orlaiths, eh? They ain’t inspirin’ of loyalty, in me experience.”

“My mother,” Tamrin said. “Without them, she’d be dead.”

Tamrin’s little brother was born in the middle of winter, when the whole world outside the house felt still and silent as a grave. Or the bottom of the lake, when Tamrin could take her screams no longer and buried himself there, and waited. He was so glad he didn’t need to come up for air, then, more than he’d been since Lavi had died and he’d suddenly become acutely aware of what it meant to drown.

Lavi. He was there too, more comfortable than Tamrin had thought possible, after what happened. Either being a ghost helped, or he was too focused on keeping Tamrin’s mind off his troubles to care. “Tell me again about your last trip to Oppara,” he said. “Come on, Tamrin.”

“The M-Mistress Orlaith t-t-took m-me to h-her favorite apoth-th-thecary. Sh-she said I need c-cosmetics, if I’m t-to accompany her to d-d-d-dinners and s-such. The w-woman r-running the apothecary, u-um, h-her name was. It w-was, um.”

“It’s okay if you don’t remember,” Lavi soothed.

Months had passed since Tamrin had been introduced to the house Orlaith, and yet each new visit to the city brought sights Tamrin couldn’t have dreamed of. They kept asking him to stay full time, hinting at more pay and room and board besides, but Tamrin couldn’t accept. Not when Lavi’s eyes lit up (as much as a ghost’s eyes could) with each new tale brought from the city he’d once dreamed of living in.

In the end, Hopea had to interrupt Tamrin’s stop-and-start storytelling with the news that his brother had been born, healthy and happy. And that his mother had survived.

But only just.

She got sick, after that. And she  _ stayed  _ sick, for months and months, and the medicines she needed were costly. And she could no longer work. And, and, well.

“It’s okay, Tamrin. You’ll still be back to visit sometimes, won’t you?”

Miserably, Tamrin nodded. Lavi hugged him as best he could, a sad smile on his face. Tamrin shuddered when he realized Lavi was shorter than him now, and that was a million kinds of horrible and wrong. In the city, it felt like everyone towered over him. Only Lavi could remind him why that was better than the alternative.

“And you know Hopea’s gonna do a fantastic job with little Arian. You’ve got nothing to worry about, you know that, right?”

“R-right,” Tamrin said, and continued to worry.

House Orlaith made good on its promise. Tamrin was given a room, much nicer than servants usually received, and three square meals a day. Each month saw a courier off with a substantial amount of coin, and Hopea’s carrier pigeons assured Tamrin that the money was more than enough, his mother was stable, his brother was growing.

Still, he was lonely in the dark stone halls.

For  _ years. _

“‘Ouse Apollo might not be as rich as those backstabbin’ Orlaith bastards,” Paz said. “But we ain’ hard for cash, kid. We can help ye mum, if’n ye’d like.”

Would he like?

_ You’re going to regret this,  _ Leonidas warned.

Something broke inside him, though, and Leonidas could do nothing to mend it, even if he’d wanted to. “Please.”

Not everything about being with the Orlaiths had been bad. Tamrin had enjoyed their immense library, had read through books on spellcraft which had Master Orlaith’s eyebrows raising in an almost approving way. But it wasn’t like it was with the Apollos, a house always full of conversation despite the dearth of servants, always warm and welcoming.

Unfortunately, however, Hopea’s letters proved that such a choice was not without consequence. If Apollo’s couriers were being interrupted in transit and never making it to his aunt, he knew who to blame. What family had provided spies to the kings of Taldor for generations, after all?

Truth be told, Tamrin felt near to breaking. It was why he risked leaving the tall, thin mansion he’d surreptitiously moved all his possessions to in the middle of the night. Unguarded, he slipped through the streets of the city that had become his home, and found his way to a library run by worshipers of Abadar.

There, he sought to bury himself in a book and forget, for a while, just as he’d done when he’d first arrived and been so homesick, all the time, it was like his skin was cracking from the inside out, parched and dying and so, so dry -

Don’t think about it. Just read.

But peace didn’t find him. Instead, a woman did. One he recognized.

“M-m-madame Lotheed, I d-didn’t exp-pect t-to - ”

“No need to stand,” Martella Lotheed waved off Tamrin’s aborted action. “I came here because I heard that recently House Orlaith was having a bit of a hard time with one of their possessions going missing. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

“No,” said Tamrin, easily enough. If Leonidas had taught him anything, it was how to lie.

She seemed a bit taken aback for a moment. “May I sit with you?”

“Oh, u-um, y-yes?”

Making herself comfortable in the bare, somewhat splintering wooden chair, Martella levelled Tamrin an indecipherable look. Eventually she steepled her fingers on the table and said, “May I speak frankly?”

“Of c-course.”

“You are a man of some renown, in my line of work. And do you know what that is?”

Rather than say it aloud, he nodded. She considered it confirmation enough to continue, “Then you understand why I might be interested to hear both that you’ve found yourself a set of allies friendlier to my cause, and that you’ve landed in a bit of a predicament as a result.”

Realization had Tamrin’s fingers falling from the book they’d been holding open into his lap. “You w-want me t-to work for you?”

“If you’d be amenable.”

Hesitation was not unfamiliar to Tamrin. Martella looked about, then said, voice pitched a bit lower despite the relative privacy of the reading nook Tamrin had found, “I can offer a, shall we say, gesture of goodwill? No strings attached.”

In all the time he’d known Martella, he’d never really been comfortable with her. Still, as of late it felt as though he had nothing to lose. And so he let her lead him deeper into the library, down a flight of stairs guarded by a woman who simply nodded at her curtly as they passed. Down there the way was lit by lanterns alone, and the air felt stale and dry enough to crack his lips.

“Zarsa,” Martella called into an open, wooden doorway. “Are you there?”

“What’s that who’s asking nevermind go away,” came a voice rapid-fire from the room.

Looking between Martella and the door, it took Tamrin an embarrassingly long time to realize she wasn’t responding because Zarsa, if that was who had spoken, was a ghost.

“She’s h-here,” he told Martella.

With a grin he’d never seen before, Martella led the way into the room. It looked like an archive for books too old and fragile to let the general public interact with too often. Sitting in the midst of it, using a wheel that held five open books which could be cycled between at will, was a young woman with her hair coming out of the myriad of braids piled on her head.

Zarsa babbled, “Can’t talk right now too busy with study please come back later.”

That was how Tamrin met a wizard who, a hundred years ago, had been a household name. Apparently she was near allergic to fame, and therefore preferred her basement to adventure, but had once saved the city from a flood which had nearly destroyed her collection of books. When she’d died, it had been due to simple starvation, the hunger for knowledge consuming her body and mind.

Martella Lotheed bought Tamrin’s loyalty with perhaps the only person in history worse at taking care of themselves than Tamrin was (according to her).

_ How will I die? _

More and more, the information Tamrin ferried to Martella seemed dire. His aunt Hopea, his brother Arian, his mother Arielle. They were safe thanks to him, and he tried to feel proud of it. But each mission that endangered his life, he wondered how much longer that would be true.

One night, after an afternoon spent channeling the warm cream thoughts of a cat, quick-moving but so narrow in focus that it was actually disconcerting the first time he managed it, Tamrin sat in the cushioned window seat in his room and stared out over the lanterns which had once seemed so numerous and magical to him. Now, he could cast dancing lights all by himself.

Unbidden, a song came to mind. A song Mother had sung for him on his last night at home, her breaths wheezing out of her, Arian fussing a bit in Tamrin’s arms no matter how he tried to sooth him. It had been a good night, for her. She’d told him, “You’re stronger than I ever was, little monkey. Stronger than your father by a long fucking shot.” And then she’d sung.

_“Sleep now my child, cradled in the deep._  
_The current will keep you safe without fail._  
_Sleep where your ancestors learned of their place._  
_And remember our people’s tale._

_“The waves may tip the boats above,_  
_And lightning may arc ‘cross the surface for miles,_  
_But down here only my arms shall rock you,_  
_So dream now of a land of pristine isles._

_“The world may turn its back on us,_  
_But mark my words my darling love,_  
_We are survivors of the sea._  
_We rise at dawn like mourning doves._

_“We glide through water like birds through sky._  
_We have a beauty born of hammer on steel,_  
_Of servitude fought and freedom won._  
_Sleep and know we broke the seal.”_

“Wha’s that called, then?”

Tamrin jumped, then turned to Paz, who was standing behind him unexpectedly. Again. He was testing Tamrin’s reflexes, supposedly, but more and more Tamrin suspected he just enjoyed startling him.

“Gillmen’s l-lullaby,” Tamrin replied.

“Huh.” Paz leaned against Tamrin’s wardrobe and grinned at him.

Eventually, unbroken eye contact had gone on long enough to be weird even for Paz. “What is it?” Tamrin asked.

“You di’n’t stutter once tha’ ‘ole song, didya sonny?”

“I d-didn’t?”

Paz shook his head, and Tamrin thought maybe, even if the city was less safe by the day, he was in the right place for right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you liked this come scream with me about pathfinder over on twitter @twitchingcorpse ^u^ 18+ only though!
> 
> Tamrin is my sweet sweet boy... which of course means bringing him on a pathfinder adventure will traumatize him more than ever. Oops. How do you guys think Tamrin will do in the War for the Crown campaign? I'd love to hear! Or talk about your own characters in the comments, since I'm always looking for inspiration for the next campaign <3


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